I Was Not Taught to Be Naked

I can undress with eyes wide open,
strip myself, layer after layer,
till you are left looking at my bare breasts.
I can hold your finger and guide it inside me,
or let your hands wander, go where they need to go.
I can sway my hips and whip my hair,
and have you fantasizing about me in all sorts of ways.
My body is me and I am my body,
it moves and dances, it is to be honoured you see
but to me, it is not sacred.
My thoughts, my words, letting you in,
without walls, without borders, this is me naked.
And I can love you, with both my heart and my mind,
not the teenage kind, but the kind that toughens your skin
and turns it into leather to face the harsh winters
all the while it caresses you and shelters you,
the closest kind to forever and for always.
And I can let you see me naked from time to time
when your voice is just the right tone for it.
But I will hold onto my inner dialogues,
inside boxes and sometimes loosely fitting lids
because I learnt to take off my clothes.
But to be naked, to let the curtains drop to the floor
for you to peer into every corner of my mind;
that, I was not taught.